


Today, and then Tomorrow.

by binarystarkillers



Series: Stephen King's Gay Subtext Has Ruined My Life [1]
Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: M/M, Or romantic, Post It, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Richie Tozier Needs a Hug, The character death is Eddie and Stan, You can read the Richie/Stan as platonic, but Richie loved Stan and that's that on that, or whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-24 07:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20702285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/binarystarkillers/pseuds/binarystarkillers
Summary: It was the prime time to tell stories, stories of friends and loss, of clubhouses and clowns, of mortgages and weddings, of fights and laughter and love and love and love.





	Today, and then Tomorrow.

It didn’t stop hurting. He could see it in all of them - in the defeated slump of Bill’s shoulders, in the hallowed look in Mike’s eyes, in the way Ben and Bev wouldn’t be separated anymore. They were all aching, their septet blown to pieces. Richie was a damn comedian, all right? If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s reading a crowd. But even though he could see their pain, he could also see their recovery. He could see the hope in their eyes, the acceptance and loss entangled with a glorious sense of peace, of forward motion. He didn’t blame them. The hope didn’t diminish the loss, or take away their pain, it just promised them that things would get better. He didn’t blame them, he didn’t. They deserved to be happy, damn it. 

He just wished he could feel the same. 

His bed had never been full, but it had never felt so empty. Every morning, he woke up, and all he could feel was how Eddie wasn’t there. His whole adulthood, he’d felt like he was missing something, something horrible: a phantom ache so intense that it never faded, burning at the edge of his mind, singing his heart. He didn’t know what it was, but it was always there.

And then he’d gotten that fucking phone call. “Because then I would have said no,” he’d snapped at Mike, but, like he’d done for most of his life, he’d lied. Even if he’d remembered IT right away, he still would have dropped everything to run to Derry, run straight back into the arms of his worst nightmares if it meant seeing Eddie again.

And then he’d seen Eddie again. He’d been sitting around the table, and Richie froze in the doorframe, for once not wanting to have any eyes on him, just wanting to drink in the sight of Eddie, feelings of love and loss and home crashing over him until he realized that Eddie had always been within him, had always been the centre of Richie’s world until he’d squeezed himself into his lungs until he was all he could breathe.

For the first time in nearly twenty years, Richie Tozier felt whole.

He’d realized two fundamental truths about himself at once. One, he would do anything to see Eddie Kaspbrak’s smile. He’d run to the ends of the world if it would make him happy. He would carry the world on his shoulders to hear Eddie laugh, a boyish one that never lowered with his voice and could light up the darkest of nights. Two? He wasn’t sure when Eddie ended and he began. It terrified and exhilarated him all at once, made him want to laugh and cry. When he was a kid, he’d always thought that love was something soft and kind, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Loving Eddie was nothing short of terrifying. It was fighting in place, falling without seeing an end, your whole life flying past your eyes, him being the only solid thing. 

Essentially? It was Eddie. It had always been Eddie.

Which only made it worse. He hadn’t lost his soulmate, or his other half, or whatever other sappy shit Ben would write. He’d lost… he didn’t have enough words for it. That horrible pain had come back, burning faster and faster until he could feel his edges fraying. He stumbled through his days, and all he could see was how Eddie wasn’t there. “You need to talk to someone,” Bev had whispered to him as she hugged him goodbye. “It doesn’t need to be me. It doesn’t need to be today. Just… promise me, okay?” 

Richie had laughed, but Beverly had always known him too well to fall for it. “Worried about lil’ ol’ me, Miss Marsh?” he had chuckled, his Southern Belle sounding so much like his child’s version that it made Bev smile, something achingly sad hidden behind. “Shut up, Trashmouth,” she had said, wrapping him up into another hug so bone-crushingly hard he thought he might have bruises. 

“You better respond to your fucking phone, okay?” She had yelled as she and Ben had driven away, flipping him off through the window. 

He hadn’t. He thought that maybe Bev had seen this coming, because she left voicemails every day, without fail. She’d legally separated from Tom, who was in jail for domestic abuse. Her and Ben were living near the sea, and they had plans to go on an overseas trip in a month. He liked listening to her messages. It was nice to picture Bev sitting on the prow of a boat, her hair flying out behind her as she laughed. He hoped she was happy. He liked to think about her and Ben making up the years they had lost, the moments they hadn’t had. Her messages were the highlight of his day.

But he couldn’t bring himself to pick up the phone. Beverly was incredible, and understood him in a way that very few people had ever, but she wasn’t the person he wanted to talk to. Because Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier had never been very good at keeping his mouth shut at the best of times, and, surprising himself, he did want to talk to someone. But the only person he wanted to talk to about Eddie’s death, he realized all too late, was also dead.

Stan and Richie had always puzzled their teachers. They were such different people: “Richie Tozier,” they’d say, “ he’s a bright kid, but he just doesn’t know when to stop. Stanley Uris, on the other hand, is a dream in class. He’s always so well-behaved, and he always does his work right away.” They contrasted each other in so many ways, but they also complimented each other in all the best ways. Stanley cut through Richie’s loud demeanor in all the best ways, his quiet jokes making Richie howl in laughter, Richie’s ridiculous impressions being one of the only things that could actually make Stan properly laugh, the rare kind of laugh that made him tip his head back and wheeze a little. 

It wasn’t fair, he thought, the bitterness of his own thoughts surprising him. It wasn’t fair that Ben and Bev got to have each other, and he lost the only people who he’d ever loved. It wasn’t fair that Bill got to write his own endings, and Richie was stuck with the castoffs. It wasn’t fair that sweet, kind Mike finally gets the chance to live the life he always deserved right as Richie lost his. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t-

He didn’t realize he was driving until he was behind the wheel of the car. For a second, he wondered what the hell he was doing, unshowered and without his license, bags under his eyes obscured by tears he told himself weren’t there. He almost turned the engine off, went back inside the house. It would be so easy. 

With trembling hands, he turned the key, and the engine revved to life. He pressed his foot on the gas, his mind so busy, churning with grief and pain and bitterness that it almost seemed blank, a dark taste in the back of his throat. The road twisted and turned around him, the grey city fading into green trees mixing with the beige leather of his car. He had a destination in mind, he knew he did, but it wasn’t for a few more hours that he realized what it was. Where the fuck else else would he go, he wondered with no small amount of bitterness, looking at the faded lettering on the Uris mailbox. He’d always ran to Stan. He probably always would. 

For the second time, Richie considered getting back in the car, starting the engine again. He knew that Stan wouldn’t be behind the door, wouldn’t give him that sad little smile, more of a twist of lips, before pulling the taller man into a hug. He knew he wouldn’t smell Stan’s lavender shampoo if he rang that door, wouldn’t feel that feeling of finally coming home. But it was the closest he’d ever get.

The door opened after a moment, a small woman behind it. “Hello?” she asked, frowning slightly. She was put together better than Richie, but he could still see the pain in her, twisting itself through her veins. “I’m sorry, can I help you?” she asked again, and Richie, with a start, realized he hadn’t spoken yet. 

“Sorry - I’m Richie. Richie Tozier,” he tried again, and dim recognition lit up Ms. Uris’ eyes, the kind of recognition you’d get from seeing a face on a poster, or hearing a childhood classmate’s voice you’d nearly forgotten. “I - I was a friend of Stan’s.” Her eyes widened further, hurt flashing across her face at the mention of her husband, and Richie frantically backpedalled. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking - please ignore me, Ms. Uris, I didn’t mean to bother you, it’s just that Stan was my best friend - I didn’t mean to disturb you-” 

“Wait,” she said, quietly, and Richie froze in his tracks, half-turned around. “Tell me about him.”

“He - he was amazing,” Richie started, unsure. “I would have moved mountains, if he’d asked.” 

Ms. Uris hesitated for a second, and then smiled, something old and sad in her eyes. It was clear, then, how Stan had fallen in love with her - she had that same demeanor, quiet in a way that could never be weak. 

“Do you want to come in?”

Stan’s house hurt to be in. Everything seemed so familiar, so Stanley that it felt like he was treading on eggshells, walking amongst ghosts.

“Can I get you anything?” Ms. Uris asked, wringing her hands nervously in front of her. “Please, feel free to sit down. I was going to put the kettle on, if you want coffee?”

Richie smiled tightly, gingerly taking a seat on the edge of their couch. “Some coffee would be nice, thank you.” Ms. Uris smiled back at him before disappearing into the kitchen, the quiet rumbling of ceramic on stone the only sound in the otherwise silent apartment. As he waited, he found himself looking around their living room, at the muted wallpaper, the open door to a closet containing an ironing board. His eye caught the clock above a faux fireplace, which made him smile. Stanley had had that clock when he was a kid - it was passed down from Stanley’s great-grandfather, and Stanley told him when they were around ten that it would one day be his; a fact that Richie teased him relentlessly for. “Seriously, dude? A clock? Family heirlooms are supposed to be cool, Stanny-boy.” Stan had silenced him with one glance and a “beep-beep”, but that hadn’t stopped Richie from pointing it out the next time he was at Stan’s house, lying upside-down on Stan’s couch and listening to him talk about a red cardinal that was supposed to be in Derry.

He hadn’t thought about that day in years. He hadn’t realized just how many memories Stan was in, how much of an impact the boy had on his life. 

“I always hated that clock,” Ms. Uris said, and Richie’s neck cricked with how quickly he turned his head. “I thought it was the ugliest thing, but it was a-”

“-family heirloom,” Richie finished for her, and she grinned at him, surprised. It was the happiest he’d seen her since he arrived - maybe the happiest she’d looked in days, judging by the flicker of surprise in her own eyes. “Thank you for the coffee, Ms. Uris.”

She huffed out a laugh, surprised. “Please, call me Patty.” Richie smiled in response, and the two sat in silence for a moment until she spoke again. “So, how did you know Stan?”

Richie chuckled a little, wrapping his hands against the warm mug. “It was the first day of kindergarten. Henry Bowers - the school bully - had broken my glasses, and I’d spent the first half of lunch duct-taping them back together in the classroom. When I finally went out, nobody would talk to me, because they didn’t want to get on his bad side. But on the other side of the playground, I saw this little kid drawing alone, so I figured, maybe he also didn’t have any friends.” 

Patty was smiling, leaning forward a little. A little belatedly, Richie realized that Stan probably hadn’t told her about his childhood - after all, he wouldn’t remember it. The only people who would remember Stan’s early years were him and Bill, and he didn’t want that, damn it. Stan deserved to be remembered, deserved to have the people he loved tell his stories.

“So I go over there,” he continued, “and in true Trashmouth fashion, I walk right up to this kid, and say ‘hi, nobody wants to talk to me. Wanna be my best friend?’ And he looks at me, like - what the fuck is this, and where did it come from? - and then smiles a little, and says: ‘get out of the sun, I can’t see my drawing.’ And he moved over so I could sit on the bench with him.” 

Patty laughed, real and genuine. “Sounds like Stan,” she agreed. “I remember the first time I met him, I thought he hated me. So, I decided that the best thing to do was to annoy him to death. Turns out he doesn’t really like his memos being delivered in the shape of paper cranes.” 

Richie choked on his coffee, laughing harder than he had in weeks. “Oh my god,” he gasped. “Patty Uris, you’re officially my favourite person.”

Patty beamed back at him, holding out her coffee mug, which he clinked his against a little too enthusiastically, making a little coffee splash onto her wrist. This only made her laugh harder. She had a nice laugh, Richie thought - a little squeaky, but endearingly so. It was the kind of laugh that made you want to laugh, too. Her chuckles died off, and she smiled at him, the happy mood diminished, but the air somehow warmer. 

“You’ve lost someone too, haven’t you?”

Richie’s breath caught in his throat, his smile fixing before sliding off his face. “Yes,” he whispered, his cup of coffee suddenly becoming very interesting. Patty smiled at him, not the beam she’d had a few moments ago, but something kinder, sadder. “I could tell,” she said softly, reaching out and squeezing his hand. “You’ve got that look in your eyes.”

He looked up then, his eyes filling with tears. “How do you deal with it? How do you wake up every day and keep living?”

Patty waited a second, biting her lip softly as she thought over her words. “You only have to do it twice,” she said, finally. “Today, and tomorrow.”

Richie didn’t say anything for a long moment, but he silently shifted his hand so he was holding her hand back, instead of having hers just sitting on his. “His name was Eddie,” he finally said, half expecting her to pull away, disgusted. But Patty just smiled, encouraging, and for the second time, Richie saw how Stanley could fall in love with her and her kind eyes and open smiles.

“He was my second friend. In senior kindergarten, baby losers Stanley and I became friends with these other two boys, Bill and Eddie, who’d been in the other class,” he broke off with a laugh, lost in a time when worries consisted of cracked lenses and hopscotch games. “Eddie was the craziest fucking person I’ve ever met. He was a hypochondriac and an asthmatic, and he couldn’t go outside without worrying about all the diseases he could get. Seriously, what kind of fourteen year old walks around with not one, but two fanny packs at all times?” 

Patty laughed then, warm and bright, and Richie was suddenly very thankful for her hand in his, anchoring him to the ground, to the living room, and the moment. “He was also the bravest person I’ve ever met. When he was thirteen, he found out that his mother had been abusing and manipulating him into thinking he was super fucked-up, health wise. But that didn’t stop him from taking down a fucking clown at thirteen-” he froze there, horror seeping into his bones as he stared at Patty, who shook her head. “Stan told me everything,” she began, her voice trembling a little as she continued, “in his… letter.” It was Richie’s turn to anchor her, this time.

“He could be a little dick,” he continued, voice trembling a little. “But he was also one of the kindest people I’ve met. I remember this time in fourth grade, when Bowers had slammed Stan into a locker, and he was bleeding from a cut on his forehead, and Eddie skipped class to stay in the boy’s bathroom with Stan and we helped him reorganize his papers until he felt calm enough to go back to class. He bought plain brown bandaids for Stan, because he didn’t like the coloured ones Eds had, and he disinfected Stans’ cut for him while he cried. I… can’t help but wonder what might have happened if I wasn’t so scared. What we might have had.”

How could he have described the feeling of loss? The loss he didn’t have a right to feel. He didn’t have a right to miss golden-stained boys and bright laughter. He was never his to lose.

“Sounds like you guys didn’t have the easiest run of things,” Patty said, frowning slightly. Richie barked out a laugh at that, surprising himself. “No, we didn’t. But, as cliché as it sounds, we had each other, y'know? It wasn’t that bad dealing with Bowers and his gang when we had each other. Us four, and Mikey-boy, Bev, and Ben.”

“The Loser’s Club,” Patty finished. “You guys meant the world to him, you know that, right?”

“He meant the world to us.” Richie said, before letting silence fall. There was nothing else to say.

“He didn’t forget you, not really. The whole time I knew Stanley, it was like he was missing something. He’d get this funny look on his face, sometimes, like he was missing something, but he didn’t know what. I remember one time we were clothing shopping, and he saw a row of pink polo shirts and just… froze. I thought he was having some sort of breakdown. One time he saw a vintage X-Men comic, and he got this look on his face like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what.”

Richie’s eyes filled with tears, then, remembering the crate of X-Men comics Stanley had saved months of allowance for to surprise Richie on his birthday. He and Stan had stayed up the whole night reading the comics, Stan letting Richie explain the backstories to him, stories of alien worlds and fantastical powers, love stories and powers beyond human comprehension illuminating the night.

Patty must have seen something in his eyes, because her next question was said so carefully that he could feel it. “Richie, did you love my husband?”

“Yes,” Richie replied instantly. It wasn’t a question in his life, it never had been. Stan had been his best friend for his whole life, along with Bill. He would have followed Stanley anywhere.

Patty’s smile was blinding as she squeezed his hand tighter. “I’m glad.”

The night was long, Richie discovered. He’d always loved the night, loved the cadence of quiet whispers and loud laughter under the stars, loved the feeling of flashlights illuminating comics under the covers. Silence had always existed to be filled with words, in his mind, and it was always better to fill it with a friend. It was a time of remembering, of letting go of the old day and welcoming in the new. It was the prime time to tell stories, stories of friends and loss, of clubhouses and clowns, of mortgages and weddings, of fights and laughter and love and love and love.

The drive back didn’t seem any shorter, but a weight seemed to be off of Richie’s shoulders, his head lightened by dried tears stuck to his face, cups of coffee, and a new contact in his phone. Patty’s parting words echoed in his head: “people need people. Eddie would have wanted you to learn to laugh again.”

Africa by Toto was playing on the radio. Quietly, under his breath, Richie began to sing along.

Richie’s house was dark, but the sun was beginning to rise, rays of light beginning to streak across the skyline. Surprisingly timid, Richie tread across the wood floors, throwing himself into a chair before dialing a number he’d known by heart since he was thirteen. 

She picked up on the second ring. “...hello?”

“Do you remember that time Stan had a cold, and Eddie made us wear surgical masks when we went to visit him?”

Across the country, Bev laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can find me on Twitter at @robinsforce. :) Also, a big thank you to my betas, @thanosleftcheek, @toziersuris, @616MARYJANE, and @bluesaturdayz, all on Twitter, as well as the Soup Time chat. You guys are all incredible. <3
> 
> Come talk to me on Tumblr! binarystarkillers :)


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